


12 Nights of Halloween

by diss_diss_fall_in_love (Dissapointed_Poetry)



Category: Banana Bus Squad, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Horror, Multi, Past Character Death, Platonic Relationships, Poetry, Romantic Friendship, Trauma, really depends on how you read it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27114973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dissapointed_Poetry/pseuds/diss_diss_fall_in_love
Summary: A short anthology of spooky poems containing some of my favorite creators from youtube and twitch. Planning on dropping one each day leading up to Halloween as a sort of "12 days of Christmas" spin-off but we will see how it goes!I'll be updating the tags as the days progress but be wary, these poems will contain instances of character death, near-death experiences, as well as physical and mental trauma.
Relationships: Brock Barrus/Brian Hanby, Evan Fong/Jonathan | H2ODelirious, Marcel | BasicallyIdoWrk/Scotty | fourzer0seven
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. Immortal.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first poem of what I hope to be a 12 poem series. 
> 
> In this piece, John lives a life many would wish to possess and that is one seemingly unending. He has spent most of his days using this gift to benefit others and suffering the repercussion of his "charitable" acts.
> 
> It's better this way though, as long as he takes the blows no one has to feel the pain he does.
> 
> It's better this way.

###  Immortal. 

John bolts up  
knocking his covers askew  
He's breathless

His brain tells him to run  
A warning sign of pain yet to surface  
But after years of the same routine  
He knows he can’t outrun the inevitable 

No matter what people may think,  
Even he can’t dream of a painless death

As if responding to his internal peril  
His spine seizes up  
And he starts to convulse

The pain of nerves severing under skin  
Sharp and burning  
Flaring up in the thousands all at once  
Like a dying star

He can feel his neck bend  
Fracture  
Hands shakily rake across bed sheets  
searching for bone fragments amongst the folds  
Trying to find any evidence  
Anything at all  
That could validate his pain  
But there's nothing

Because this already happened.

The only thing left is a hollow echo  
The feeling of bones breaking under taut skin  
Muscles straining to keep together a man

Fighting every rule of law  
Every truth of science

Fighting the fact that a fall from that height should have left him  
Broken and bleeding  
A stain on the hood of some unlucky bastards car  
A memory ingrained in the minds of those who watched the fall  
Those who screamed  
Those who cried  
The cops called to lessen the panic  
The paramedics who scrapped his body off the car  
And tried to find a pulse

They wouldn't find one  
They never do

Every accident is the same  
Whether it’s a shotgun round at point-blank to the chest  
Or a needle pressed hastily into a vein

There is no pulse  
_And yet John wakes up all the same._


	2. Cravings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short anthology of spooky poems containing some of my favorite creators from youtube and twitch. Planning on dropping one each day leading up to Halloween as a sort of "12 days of Christmas" spin-off but we will see how it goes!
> 
> I'll be updating the tags as the days progress but be wary, these poems will contain instances of character death, near-death experiences, as well as physical and mental trauma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the second poem of my 12 poem anthology.
> 
> In this piece, Evan reflects on his past few sleepless nights and the abnormal side effect arising from them. Effects that seem to escalate at the sound of his friend's voices, growing more and more permanent with every moment of contact he shares.
> 
> He's really hoping whatever he caught goes away soon.
> 
> (also tried a new narrative type, gonna see how we like it :> )

###  Cravings. 

It's been a long day.

The clock set into the bottom of your desktop display tells you it's around 2 am  
But you don't feel tired

You haven't felt tired in weeks

As of recent, you've barely slept  
It was a welcomed change of pace at first  
You consider yourself a very active person  
So the lack of weariness was a blessing if anything  
You filled the hours with tasks previously dismissed  
You practiced for the upcoming tour  
You edited new content  
Worked out  
Tested some of the latest single-player releases  
The hours passed by without much thought until you ran out of ways to distract yourself  
And caught up with the reality of your new condition.

It had been six days. Almost a week.

Six days without a wink of sleep  
Six days without a call  
You check your phone  
27 missed calls  
Hundreds of forgotten notifications

As you scroll through the masses  
Jon calls  
You pick up and his voice 

It awakens something inside you

He’s been crying you can tell  
His voice is filled with an uncommon urgency  
But you can’t understand a word he's saying  
Over the migraine bursting behind your eyes  
And the hushed whispers drifting from darkened corners  
Filling your mind with urges you'd never felt  
The urge to see him  
To touch him

To taste him

You start to bite at your fingertips as you salivate at the thought  
Teeth tearing into his pale flesh  
The sound, vibrations against your tongue  
Of his eyes. 

He says your name and you snap out of it, hanging up immediately  
Phone falling to the ground as your grip slacks  
He calls again but you don’t hear it as you run to the nearest sink  
And vomit  
It’s all acid

You haven’t spoken to him since  
You try to remember to text them  
Tell them you ok  
You hoped they'd stop asking by now and just leave you alone for once  
But they don’t  
You know they can see right through you  
You feel like you should care  
You don’t

As long as they stay far away  
As long as they don’t get to see  
What you see constantly

The bitemarks trailing up your arms  
Open wounds, infected and bleeding  
Your hollowed sockets, busting from strain.  
They’ll be fine  
You’ll be fine

As you sit in the dark humming the same riff over and over again  
You hear banging on your front door  
laced with the same urgency found in the tones of close friends

The hunger drives you to your feet but you stop yourself  
You cannot pull others into your shit  
You can’t let the hunger win

So you turn around to try to sleep  
Try to grasp at the humanity you'd lost so willingly  
weeks ago  
For a second you almost make it  
The banging stops  
You can feel yourself slipping away

Then you hear his voice  
Shouting your name  
_And you lose._


	3. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short anthology of spooky poems containing some of my favorite creators from youtube and twitch. Planning on dropping one each day leading up to Halloween as a sort of "12 days of Christmas" spin-off but we will see how it goes!
> 
> I'll be updating the tags as the days progress but be wary, these poems will contain instances of character death, near-death experiences, as well as physical and mental trauma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the third poem of the 12 poem series.
> 
> In this piece, Marcel gets pulled into Brian's attempt at a seance at the Hanby Halloween party expecting it to go as many is the past have, boringly uneventful. Though, a lack of proper closing on this particular seance leaves Marcel alone with an open portal to the other side.
> 
> Allowing a visit from someone he thought he'd never get to see again.

###  Touch. 

It shouldn't have worked  
It was supposed to be a joke  
Just a stupid fucking joke

When Brian had dragged the board out initially  
With such zeal  
It took all of Marcel’s energy not to roll his eyes  
Hasbro makes this shit for god's sake

Its a toy

He did fail however to hold back a scoff  
To which Brian turned his attention from bugging Tyler  
To vehemently backing the boards validity  
Dating it as a Hanby family keepsake

‘The board has existed for decades’  
He cried  
‘It has to be real,  
right?’

Marcel started to zone out as Brian continued to detail the rich history of demonic possessions  
Of tortured souls  
Of death  
That the board supposedly contained within its slim body  
Cracked and withered  
Scorched on the ends and covered with layers of dull paint  
As if trying to hide something sinister  
That once graced its surface

It's a cute attempt at a scare sure  
Marcel would give him that  
But Marcel was no easy scare

He’d been through worse  
Much worse.

Compaired to that He could take a piece of cheap glass on thin wood  
Any day of the week  
so he did  
They sat there entertaining Brian's vision  
They touched their fingers to the looking glass and asked the veil to send them a sign  
Low and behold  
It didn’t

There was no response  
Not a single word or movement  
Nothing

Just like Marcel thought

Just another stupid knockoff  
It didn't matter what it was made of  
Be it plastic or cardboard  
How old it was  
Or how it had been scorned in the past

The outcome never changed  
None of it ever worked.

As he dwelled on this thought  
This feeling  
He could hear Brian let out a sigh of disappointment  
Before grabbing Tyler by the arm and calling out that  
they were headed to the kitchen to get drinks

The door shut behind them  
Cluttered footsteps faded  
And in its wake a quiet set in  
Paired with the muted darkness of the unlit room  
It was almost as if Marcel was in a vacuum  
Sealed off from the outside world

That he was truly alone

He revealed in state until a noise drew his attention away  
The sound of scraping  
Light but present  
Emanating not from outside the room but from within  
Marcel glanced around Before dropping his eyes down to the board still placed in front of him  
The glass had moved

Instinct kicked in and Marcel’s hands shot out to grasp the lense  
To prove his eyes weren't deceiving him  
His fingers grazed the smooth surface for only a fraction of a second before he realized what he had done  
it was enough though

Enough to feel the hands of someone  
Warm and soft  
A touch so patient it was almost as if  
it was trying to convey forgiveness  
Without a single word

Their touch had always been so full

It wasn't enough

Marcel had to see them  
So he looked up and there he sat  
Just as Marcel pictured he would

His pale skin  
Drawn over thin limbs  
Their windswept hair  
Always free falling beyond anyone's control  
Even beyond his own  
Their vacant eyes  
And the blood  
Pouring from their lips  
Like a brook flowing down a mountainside  
Drenching their torn shirt  
Broken by holes dug by shotgun rounds Buried deep into the chest of someone  
Who didn’t deserve it

Those rounds were for Marcel  
He shouldn't have gotten in the way  
If Marcel hadn’t been so careless

He’d still be here

Suddenly the hands clasped under Marcel's own  
Moved to rest atop his and pushed  
As if trying to move them both  
Marcel lets his eyes fall to the glass before raising them back up  
Catching an uncharacteristic expression of deep concentration  
Eyebrows knit and lips drawn  
He wants to tell Marcel something  
Marcel knows 

So he lets himself go  
And allows them to move his hands

It's a slow process  
But Marcel doesn’t need to see him finish to know what he is spelling  
And god it hurts  
It hurts to know that Scotty still loves him  
Even if it's all his fault  
He’s crying now he's sure of it  
He doesn’t dare lift a hand from the glass to check though  
Afraid that when they return  
The warmth won't return with them  
Across from him, he can see a quivering smile  
A small laugh  
Accompanied by a pained look of understanding and remorse  
As Scott lifts one of his own hands to cup Marcel's cheek  
Thumb set to swipe a tear from his skin  
The door to the bedroom opens  
_And he’s gone._


End file.
